


Little Lion Man

by BBCotaku



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: 3 gatsu no lion!AU, Chessplayer!Connor, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heidi Hansen Is a Good Mother, March comes in like a lion!AU, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCotaku/pseuds/BBCotaku
Summary: "Connor hadn’t lied about his age, per se. He just hadn’t refused when Aaron Puck suggested they go grab a drink after their match.It wasn’t like Puck didn’t know Connor was underage, the fact that he was one of the younger expert chess players around was practically common knowledge. Only sixteen and with an ELO rating over 2500. It seemed impressive to anyone who wasn’t Connor. Or anyone who knew fuck-all about chess."[A 3-gatsu no Lion!AU]





	Little Lion Man

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping

Connor hadn’t lied about his age, per say. He just hadn’t refused when Aaron Puck suggested they go grab a drink after their match.

It wasn’t like Puck didn’t  _ know _ Connor was underage, the fact that he was one of the younger expert chess players around was practically common knowledge. Only sixteen and with an ELO rating over 2500. It seemed impressive to anyone who wasn’t Connor. Or anyone who knew fuck-all about chess.

Maybe it was a trick? After all, Connor had wiped the floor with the old man. If anyone found that the American chess world’s young star had gotten drunk he’d be well and truly screwed.

Besides, Puck hadn’t even offered him a ride home. He’d just left him to find his own way back, barely able to walk in a straight line. 

Connor stumbled his way through the dark, moving from streetlamp to streetlamp in a search for familiar landmarks. His body moved automatically, past the city library, past the convenience store with the vending machine that would spit out free drinks if you kicked it the right way, left on ninth, right on twelfth.

The air felt too thick. The sky felt like it was rotating, reminding Connor of when he’d run around in circles as a kid, purposely trying to make himself dizzy. Zoe had found it funny.

He tasted bile and his hands found the metal railing separating the sidewalk from a ninety-feet drop. How the fuck had he gotten to the bridge? 

Connor stared down at the rolling water. Without the sun to light it up, it just looked like a heaving pool of darkness lapping against the supports of the bridge. He kept staring. Stared until the drop made him light-headed. 

He’d thought about it a lot. Flinging himself over into the water. 

Some nights--when insomnia was at its peak and he didn’t feel like studying for his next match--he’d sit on the balcony of his crummy apartment and watched the bridge, trying to pluck up enough courage to just die. 

A few times he’d seen people climb over the ledge and had to call the 911. Most times they’d arrive, talk the person back over and whisk them away in an ambulance with a blanket around their shoulders. Other times he’d hear the stomach-churning sound of a body hitting the water. 

Part of him knew he should go out and help them himself, but another knew he’d probably fuck that up too. 

He wondered if anyone would call 991 for him. 

No, he decided. He’d probably just get shit for loitering or causing a disturbance or some crap like that.

_ Hello, officer? A homeless-looking drunk is making me uncomfortable. Please lock him up and throw away the key. Or better yet, just push him over and let him fucking drown. It’s what he deserves after all.  _

“Are you okay?” 

Connor’s shoulders tensed and he whirled around, gripping the railing tightly in an attempt to keep himself upright.

A woman stood in front of him. A nurse, he realised. Still wearing her scrubs. 

He tried to force his lips to move, to form the words to tell this woman that, yeah, he was completely fine, but instead his mouth pulled back into a watery grimace and he started to cry. It was like someone had flicked a switch in his brain and turned on the waterworks. 

“Woah. Hey, hey.” The nurse took a tentative step forward. “I’m going to touch you, is that okay?” 

Connor nodded, rubbing his eyes on the back of his hand. 

“Alright. Hey. It’s okay.” She reached out and put her arms around him, holding him up. “You’ve had a lot to drink, haven’t you?” There wasn’t anything accusing in her voice. Not like his parents when he’d come home late. It was more of a statement, a concern. “Come on. One foot in front of another. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh? Come on, one, two, three. There we go, just a few more steps. God, you barely weight anything. Have you eaten?”

As the nurse lead Connor down the street, he was acutely aware that she could very well be an axe murderer about to drag him to his death. He didn’t really care, though maybe that was the alcohol. 

He kept walking, listening to her questions but not really giving any answers. Occasionally, he’d think he was finished with crying, but then he’d start up again and have to stop to wipe his nose and eyes on the cuff of his hoodie. 

To give her credit, the nurse waited for him each time. She didn’t make him hurry up, or groan or sigh when his feet planted in place and he fumbled to find a patch of fabric that wasn’t completely drenched in snot. She just let him get on with it before helping him back on his way. 

Eventually, they reached their destination, which turned out to be a rickety house on the edge of town. It looked almost as shit as Connor’s apartment. 

Inside, however, it proved to be rather cozy, if a little cluttered. 

“Almost there,” the nurse hauled Connor into the living room, letting him sit down on the single couch. The moment she let go of him, Connor plonked himself down onto his side, which helped the spinning somewhat. In truth, he was far too tall for the tiny couch and had to pull his knees up to his chest for all of his body to be able to lay down comfortably. 

“No shoes on the couch, come on.” 

Closing his eyes, Connor kicked off his boots and let them thud to the floor. 

“Thank you.” 

He kept his eyes closed and listened to her footsteps leave the room. 

“Hey.” Out in the hall, a new voice spoke. 

“Oh. Hey. I thought you were in bed.” The nurse again. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

Connor’s first assumption was that the voice belonged to the woman’s husband. Then, common sense kicked in. The voice was far too young. Probably a child. A son, by the sounds of it. Or maybe a daughter with a kind of deep voice? 

There was a pause. 

“Uh...I-Is there a cat in there?” The new voice asked. 

“Huh?” The nurse laughed. “Kind of?” 

“A dog? Are you sure the others are going to....” there were footsteps, followed by another, long, pause. 

Connor didn’t dare to open his eyes. 

“Evan,” the nurse said quietly. “Can you get some water for me?” 

The new voice--Evan--didn’t say anything, but presumably nodded and went on his way. 

The room became silent again, and Connor assumed he must have fallen asleep as the next thing he knew the nurse had him sat up and was shaking him awake. 

“Here,” she handed him a glass of water. “Drink up.” 

Connor did, draining the glass in three quick gulps. 

“Do you feel up to eating?” The nurse asked, replacing the glass with a slice of plain, white bread. 

“I think so…” Connor couldn’t help but wince at how slurred his voice was. 

“Good. Good.” The nurse reached to the side and seemed to pull a bucket from thin air. She placed it on the couch beside him. “Just in case. I put tissues at the bottom, helps with the splashback.” 

Suddenly the bread seemed far less appetizing.

“What’s your name?” 

“Connor.” 

“Okay, Connor. My name’s Heidi. It’s nice to meet you.” She had a voice like a kindergarten teacher: soft and slow, but somehow chipper at the same time. “I need a phone number, okay? I’m sure your parents will be worried.” 

Connor felt his lip start to warble and crammed the slice of bread into his mouth. He swallowed it too quickly, making him gag. 

“Careful!” Heidi thumped him on the back. 

“They don’t know I’m out,” he wheezed, reaching for the bucket. 

“All the more reason to call them. Do you think you’re doing to be sick?” 

He swallowed the lump of bread in his throat and shook his head. “They....”

He could make up an excuse. Tell this woman they were dead. That he was an orphan. Then maybe she’d stop asking questions. 

“I don’t live with them anymore,” he said truthfully. 

Heidi’s brows narrowed. “You look a little young to be a college student.” 

Again, Connor missed the opportunity to lie. “I’m not...I don’t live with them…” He held his face over the bucket, waiting for the usual barrage of questions. 

_ Did they kick you out? _

_ Were they abusive? _

_ On drugs?  _

He’d heard it all a million times before. 

But instead of asking questions, Heidi put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze.    
“We’ll sort it out tomorrow, yeah?” 

Fat tears rolled off Connor’s nose and dropped into the bucket. Why couldn’t he stop crying? 

Heidi wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “You’re having a real rough time of it, huh?” 

All Connor could do was nod.


End file.
